Faith in Something Different
by arescuefromreality
Summary: A Christian's struggles in a world where religion is dying out.
1. Chapter 1

Many elements of this story are based on true events, whether they were my experiences or the experiences of my loved ones.

* * *

**Faith in Something Different**

**Prologue**

I met God on a rainy July afternoon at the age of 6. I was sitting in my living room watching television with my mother. She handed me the remote and told me to, "Pick something interesting." So I took the remote from her hand and began flipping, on my way to Channel 58 where I knew my favorite show _Tom and Jerry_ would be playing. While pushing the little red '+' button, I stumbled upon Channel 21, with a man who was speaking. He was reciting a scripture from what I later learned was the Bible.

"For I know the plans I have for you 'declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future."

Jeremiah 29:11

The verse that changed my life.

"Turn that garbage off!" my mother shouted at me. But from that moment on I was determined to learn more about this Man that he was talking about.

My mother was a selfish alcoholic who I strive to be the complete opposite of for the rest of my life.

So I followed my mother's orders, knowing that if I didn't the result would be more bruises that I would have to create stories of falling on the cement or hitting my leg on the kitchen counter for. She settled back into her chair and continued to read her library copy of Stephen King's _The Stand_, a copy that would not be returned. Did I mention she was also a thief?

That night I went to bed thinking about what I had heard on the television, and devised a plan to acquire information on the subject.

Every afternoon I waited for my mother to go to work so that I could sit down on our raggedy, 10 year old couch and turn on Channel 21.

My relationship with God began to grow.

Around the age of 10, where our story will begin, I discovered church. One of my friends asked me to go with her one Sunday, and I accepted. That day is one of the fondest memories I have of my childhood. From that point forward I walked the 1 mile to church every Sunday and Wednesday night. Church was my refuge, and the only place where I could express my love for Christ without being criticized.

As I grew older, my love and devotion for God grew with me, as did society's rejection of my beliefs. I faced many difficulties, especially through my teenage years. However, I did not let any of my struggles influence my morale. Only one thing kept me going: faith.

Some people have faith in their spouses or partners. Some people have faith in their future or their plans. Some people have faith in their hearts or their minds.

But I have faith in God.

* * *

_"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight." _

-Proverbs 3:5-6


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter I: Day of Worship **

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

I hear my alarm clock just as I'm soaring through the air like an eagle (in my dream, of course). I open my tired eyes and force myself out of bed for the last day of summer break. It's Sunday, and I have to be at church in 3 hours.

I complete my usual morning routine of getting myself ready, going downstairs and fixing breakfast, making my mother's special "hangover juice," and then sitting down to watch Channel 21 until she comes down.

"Good morning." She says, as she walks down the stairs with wild hair and pajamas on.

I quickly flip the channel

"Good morning." I say, jumping up to get her "antidote."

She examines me as I hand the glass to her.

"Are you going to 'church' today?" She says church in a whiny, mocking voice.

"Yes"

"You're going to leave your poor, hung over mother all by herself?"

"It's not my fault you got drunk last night."

I couldn't help myself.

She stands up and slaps me hard across the face.

"If you want to get technical, it is your fault!" she screams. "If I hadn't had such a lousy daughter then maybe I wouldn't have to drink!"

It takes all of my power not to say anything in response to that. I simply turn and walk upstairs to cover the redness that has now formed on my cheek.

I grab my usual foundation to conceal the area. What other 10 year old _has_ to wear makeup?

When my cheek is nice and tan again, I go downstairs and walk out of the door, not saying anything to my mother. I then begin walking the 1 mile to church.

When I arrive, I see the usual scene playing out. The front door to the Chapel adorns the sign 'The Mansfield Methodist Church' and is being held open by one of the ushers, Mr. Crolly. I can hear music and conversations' ringing out from the Chapel, and the entire parking lot is full. Seeing this makes my day every Sunday.

"Hello ." I say before giving the usher a hug.

"Why hello Miss Ronan." He replies with his usual jolly smile.

I make my way into the church and sit in the back pew with my friends.

Today's sermon is on the Valley of Dry Bones, in which God raised hundreds of men from the dead in Ezekiel's presence. The story never seizes to amaze me. After church is over we all disperse to Sunday school with Mrs. Baker, where she further elaborates on the sermon.

When the bell rings I said goodbye to my friends and begin walking home.

* * *

When I walk through the door of our ugly, run-down apartment I'm immediately hit by my mother's storm of rage.

"I wanted pancakes, Rebecca! Why would you fix bacon when you know that I hate bacon!" She then proceeds to hurl the plate of food at me.

_You're lucky i fixed anything._

"Now i have to go out for breakfast!"

Great, she'll spend what little money we have left, thanks to the cigarettes and booze that she buys in week. She grabs her purse and charges out of the room leaving me to clean up after her.

She doesn't come home until 4 o'clock the next morning.

* * *

"_Tell them the Lord God is saying, 'They'll come a time when I'll bring both nations together again. They'll no longer be two nations, but one. I'll give them their own land, the land I gave Jacob. They'll have one king. David will rule over them. They'll no longer corrupt themselves with Idols. I'll make them clean and they'll be my people, and I'll be their God.' "_

-Ezekiel 37


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter II: The First Day of School**

The next day, I wake up to my first day of 5th grade. It's warm and sunny out, warranting a sun dress and sandals.

I complete my usual morning routine, and by 8 o'clock I'm ready to start my day. I leave the apartment having never seen my mother.

As I'm walking towards my bus stop, I watch other children leaving for school, only after their parents give them hugs and wish them a wonderful day.

_I want that,_ I thought to myself, which was quickly answered with _you're not good enough_ by that disapproving voice in the back of my mind that oddly enough sounds a bit like my mother.

* * *

The bus pulls up next to Cattaraugus County Elementary School and we all pile out of the front door. I make my way to Mrs. Franklyn's classroom, number 72. She's a stout woman with curly brown hair and a wide grin on her face.

"Good morning class." She says in an excessively cheerful way.

"Good morning Mrs. Franklyn." We all say, simultaneously.

"How was everybody's summer?"

She then points to the girl in the front of the room and conducts us to go around and tell the class what we did over break.

"What about you, Ms. Ronan?" She says, pointing a finger at me.

"I spent my summer at Vacation Bible School."

The room erupts with laughter, and my face erupts in a blush. Soon after, the recess bell rings and I run out to the playground.

As I'm sitting on the swing, I hear feet shuffling the gravel behind me. I turn to see a group of boys with their arms crossed and a smirk on their faces.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Jesus freak." A tough guy who seems to be the" leader of the pack" says.

"Leave me alone." I say in annoyance.

"Oh, look boys; we've got a feisty one."

The group surrounds me and within seconds I'm trapped.

"Whose gonna save you now Ronan? Your precious Jesus?" He punches me in the arm with a force that knocks me out of my swing. Then all of the boys join in.

"Hey, what's going on?" I know that voice. It's the principal.

"She hit me Mr. Grete!" Their leader says hiding a sneer. I push myself onto my feet.

"That's a lie!"

But he doesn't believe me. Nobody ever believes me. We all end up in the principals office.

"I've called your mother."

_Oh no. _

I gulp, "You did?"

"Yes I did, and she didn't sound very happy."

_I wonder why. _

Suddenly my mother storms in with a look of rage in her eyes that I'm sure the principal won't notice. After he explains the situation. she grabs my hand and begins dragging me out of the door.

"I can assure that it will not happen again, Mr. Grete."

At that she squeezes my hand so hard that it takes everything in my power not to yelp out in pain. When we're in the car, she releases the anger that has been building up inside of her for the past 30 minutes.

"Listen young lady, if you_ ever _do something like that again, you will never see daylight again, do you hear me?"

I nod in agreement.

"I was in the middle of sleeping when I get a call saying that I need to come down to the school immediately, do you have any idea how much trouble you have caused me? You wait until we get home, you'll be scrubbing floors for a week!" She went on and on until we finally pull up to our apartment and she has to wait to continue so that no one would see the kind of woman that she really is.

As soon as we walk into the door she slaps me across the face and throws the mop at me.

She gives me a look of pure hatred and screams "Get started."

It's only the first day of school and my body is already covered in lies.

* * *

"_So put away all malice and all deceit and hypocrisy and envy and all slander. Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation— if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good. As you come to him, a living stone rejected by men but in the sight of God chosen and precious, you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ."_

-1Peter 2: 1-12


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter III: Suspicion**

As the week continues, I begin to notice Mrs. Franklyn watching me with a look of suspicion in her eyes. It must the increasing number of bruises covering my body. I can't seem to do anything right at home.

On Tuesday the kitchen wasn't spotless, Wednesday her juice tasted sour, Thursday she caught me watching channel 21, and today the trash hadn't been taken out. Each mess up gave me up to three bruises.

* * *

"Ms. Ronan." I hear Mrs. Franklyn call me before I walk out of the room for recess.

"Yes?"

"May I speak with you?"

_What could she want? _

I walk over to her desk and wait for her to begin.

"Ms. Ronan, I have noticed that you are covered in bruises. Could you explain to me how you got them?"

_Oh no. _

I then begin to point to each bruise and pull different ideas from my head and out of my mouth.

"And this one I got from playing with my dog."

I don't have a dog.

"Okay, let me take you to the nurse. Perhaps she will have something that can help."

_What can the nurse do about bruises?_

She leads me to the nurse's office. When we arrive, I sit on a blue chair in the corner.

Ms. Franklyn steps out into the hallway with the nurse while I sit and wait, reading a book. They come back in 5 minutes later and the nurse begins to examine my "accidents."

I can tell that I'm not fooling anyone.

She then steps out again with Ms. Franklyn. I can hear them chatting in the hallway, and then I hear another voice join them. It's Mr. Grete. They all enter the room with looks of concern on their faces.

"Rebecca, the bruises aren't from playing with your dog or falling off of your bike, are they?"

I gulp. "Y-yes they are." _That wasn't very convincing._

"Rebecca," Ms. Franklyn is now on one knee in front of me with what looks like tears forming in her eyes. "You can tell me the truth."

This could be it. I could finally tell someone. I could finally escape from this misery. But, what about my mother? Who will take care of her? Who will nurse her back to health after a long night of drinking? Who will feed her? I know what I have to do. I have to protect my mother.

"I've already told you the truth."

She gives me another look of concern, and then stands up, taking my hand to lead me to recess. Before we reach the hallway I glance back to Mr. Grete. The look on his face says "this isn't over."

Something tells me he's right.

* * *

That night I pray for my mother, and it's not like any prayer I've ever said before. I don't usually pray for my mother, I've always just assumed that she was who she was, and that couldn't change. But I realize now that that's very naive of me. I ask God to forgive her, because I know that she will never ask "my imaginary friend" herself. I pray that she will overcome her addictions and straighten her morals to a route that has not been carved by society. I don't know if this prayer will be answered,because if it is not His will then it will not be so. But one thing that I do know is that He will do what is best for us.

* * *

_Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour._

- 1 Peter 5:6-8


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter IV: The Truth

The next day I wake with a knot in my stomach. Our secret is out, and there is nothing I can do to stop it from spreading but pray. Pray that Mr. Grete will mind his own business. But I know that this will not be the case. I walk downstairs and begin to prepare breakfast.

"Rebecca, what's this about a parent teacher conference?"

_What? _I turn to see my mother standing in the doorway, a look that I know all too well spreading across her face.

"W-what parent teacher conference?"

"I just got off the phone with your teacher; she says she wants you and I to come in after school. She wants to discuss something important."

Suddenly she's in front of me, staring down with cold green eyes.

"What have you done?" she whispers.

"I didn't do any-" she slaps me across the face. I contain my anger and return to my work, all while she is standing behind me, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Maybe she doesn't deserve my help. Maybe I should just tell them. Maybe there is an escape after all. She means nothing to me anyway. _You know that's not true. You know that you love me, I'm your mother. _There's that voice again.

"Get away from me!"

I run out the door, and to the bus stop, where I wait in the sun for route 189.

* * *

_Ring. Ring. Ring_

The last bell of the day sounds through the hallways as students pour out of their classrooms. I stay behind, because in only thirty minutes, my mother will be walking through the door.

"Miss Ronan, is your mother coming?"

"I think so, ma'am." I struggle to keep my voice from shaking.

Mr. Grete walks in with another man in tow.

"Miss Ronan, this is Mr. Marlo, he will be meeting with your mother as well."

What is this, some kind of interrogation? That's exactly what it is.

A few moments later, I hear a pair of heels clicking down the hallway. My mother comes in wearing a yellow dress and just enough makeup to cover what's left of a hangover on her face.

"Hello," she says with a fake grin on her face, "My name is Fran Ronan, Rebecca's mother." She takes the hand of everyone in the room, still holding that grin.

"Hello Ms. Ronan, I'm Richard Grete. Will you have a seat please?" He gestures to a series of chairs in the back of the classroom. We all take a seat and wait for someone to break the silence.

It's Mrs. Franklyn who does so.

"Ms. Ronan, do you know why we are here?"

"Well I would assume it's because Rebecca has done something wrong."

"No, actually, we're here because we believe that someone else has done something wrong."

_Oh my gosh. _

My mother is shaking.

"What do you mean?"

"Ms. Ronan look at your daughter. Her legs. Her arms. Her neck. What do you see?" Mr. Marlo pipes up.

My mother looks at me without a glimpse of compassion in her eyes whatsoever.

"I see bruises and cuts, perfectly normal for a child her age-"

"Yes," he interrupts, "it is normal for a child her age to have a few minor cuts and bruises, however it is not normal for those cuts and bruises to be in the shape of fingers, fists, and nails."

My mother opens, and then closes her mouth. For the first time ever, she is at a loss for words.

"We can make this easy, Ms. Ronan. You can tell us the truth about the wounds on this child's body, or we will have to take you downtown for questioning that I'm sure you don't have time for. So, what's it going to be?"

"How dare you accuse me of hurting my own child-"

"Rebecca," she is interrupted "tell me, where did they come from?"

Before i speak, I turn to God.

_Dear Lord,_

_Please give me the strength to make the right decision. Please guide me into the life that I am supposed to live, rather it be with my mother or with someone else. Show me the way to your kingdom. Show me the way to your will  
_

_In Jesus' name I pray, Amen._

I let out a deep breath. I had forgotten to breathe for a moment.

"They came," can I do it? _No, you can't. You won't rat your own mother out will you? _

Yes I will.

"They came from my mother."

In a split second I am on the ground with two hands around my neck. All that I can hear is my mother yelling, "You little brat! How could you?"

As soon as it happens, it stops. I'm lifted from the ground as I gasp for air. I can see my mother pinned against the wall as Mr. Grete and Mr. Marlo try to keep her away from me. The two men then drag her out of the room as she kicks and screams.

All that I can feel… is relief.

_Have I done the right thing?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter V: Bleak**

My dear reader, I wish that I could tell you that things became better after my mother lost custody of me and I was placed into foster care. I wish that I could tell you that my new "parents" were kind and loving Christians with a love for children. Even I believed they would be. However, God had a different plan for me. It appears that my battle was not over.

After my mother was placed in jail and sentenced to 15 years, the adoption center set out to finding me a new home. When they came across the Griffon family it was believed that they would make the perfect match for me. So one Saturday afternoon I packed my bags and got into the car that would take me to my new home.

We pulled into the driveway in front of a small, worn down yellow house. My driver assisted me with my belongings and guided me up the green steps toward the front door. I knocked. A woman, whom I presumed was my new mother, answered the door with a grin on her face. She was short and had wild red hair and warm grey eyes. She introduced herself to me, and then guided me to the rest of my family. I met my new father, a tall man with black hair and glasses, second. He gave me a warm welcome and called my new siblings downstairs. Abby, Richard, and Penelope were their names. They each gave me an emotionless hug and then they all guided me to my room. It turned out to be more like a broom closet.

As my life at the Griffons began to settle down, their true colors began to come alive. What I thought was the new light of my life turned out to be my all-time low.

I was treated as a part of the family for about a week. Mrs. Griffon cooked warm meals every night and sat at the head of the table. We all giggled and told stories, and afterwards we would all watch television together.

After that, everything changed. What was the first night that I was asked to cook dinner and clean the kitchen, turned into a tradition. I became the family slave, and I didn't bother protesting because I knew what the result would be, thanks to my mother. I still heard her in my head occasionally. She would laugh and tell me _you better make your new family happy or they won't ever love you._ Oh how I wanted their love. But like my mother, they never showed a mutual desire. All they ever did was bark orders at me.

My responsibilities in the Griffon home included, but were not limited to:

- Cleaning

- Cooking

- Laundry

- Yard Work

- Trash

- Dusting

- Mopping

If I was not done by 9:00 each day, I would go to bed hungry. I was now juggling school and all of my chores at "home." I was forced to do more for the Griffons than my mother had ever required of me.

My time at school continued to move downhill. I never found friends, and always lacked good grades. My peers continued to bully me for my frizzy hair and messed up teeth, but I never let their words get the best of me. Despite my many struggles I continued to attend church and keep my faith. Though times were difficult I was able to turn to God and place all of my worries into his hands.

I may have gone from one misery to the next, but as the weeks continued, I found myself missing my mother more and more each day.

I knew that I had to get out of there, however every attempt was unsuccessful. I eventually just stopped trying, and gave up.

I had to have faith.

* * *

_Then Jesus told his disciples, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul_

-Matthew 16:24-26


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VI: Memories**

It had been six years since I'd entered the Griffon household. I was a junior in high school and could not wait for my final year. I didn't have many friends, and those that I did manage to get ended up ditching me for the "cool" kids. I didn't mind. Being alone had become the norm for me. I knew that I wasn't ever truly alone.

It was a Sunday morning. Mrs. Griffon had woken me up and told me to go downstairs and prepare breakfast for the family. I quickly did so and ran back upstairs to put on my Sunday best.

"I'm leaving now." I yelled before exiting the door into the cold January air.

I made the 2 mile walk to the church that I called home. Ferguson Methodist was an old church with a tiny chapel whose pews squeaked beneath any weight. But I loved it.

I was greeted with numerous good mornings and took my seat in the farthest pew to the left.

Today's sermon was about abiding in God. The preacher spoke about Moses and his prayers for God to be in his presence always. He said that all we could do was trust the Lord and know that he will do what is best for us. He was right.

On my way home I decided to pass the time by taking a different route. I had always gone the same way but for some reason it felt like I was supposed to go left instead of right. I walked down a long and winding path away from the city and hoped that the Griffons didn't need me home soon.

I didn't think I would ever stop walking. I wanted to continue, to run away from the life that I despised so much. But I knew that my thoughts were not realistic.

I decided to turn around, however a building in the distance caught my eye. I immediately recognized it as the building that I had grown up in. The building where I lived with my mother what seemed like 20 years ago.

I made my way to the building, knowing that it had been abandoned a year ago. When I reached the front steps I decided to go in. Making my way to room 3B, tears began to surface in my eyes as the memories of my old life began to rush out at me.

The door was faded and rundown, with half of the "3" missing and no door handle. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The apartment looked untouched, as if it hadn't been empty for the past 6 years. There were dirty dishes in the sink and clothes strewn on the floor.

_Clean up. _

_You're not good enough._

_You pig_

All of the memories were left behind, and I was standing in their midst.

_Are you deaf? Clean up!_

So I did.

I scrubbed the floors, washed the dishes, put away the clothes, and dusted every surface in the apartment. As always, nobody thanked me.

"Are you happy mother?" I said, knowing that there would be no response.

I sat down on our little couch and turned to channel 21, blasting the volume because I knew that my mother could not stop me.

* * *

_Moses prayed, "If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here"._

- Exodus 33:15


End file.
